Undesirable Arrangements
by Xochiquetzal
Summary: AU, 1211. Larxene cannot believe who her mother has arranged for her to marry come spring - none other than Marluxia, the King's second son and an egotistical, flirtatious bastard to boot. A Christmas present for werewolfgirl800.
1. Prologue

I was lingering at the fringes of the celebration when I first saw my mother smile. As a woman of high class; she rarely smiled, and when she did it was tight and false from her perfectly red puckered lips to form what was nothing more than an upward turn to the sides of her mouth.  
This smile - this fake impersonation - was directed at me, and in return I scowled with all the true emotion festered within me as my mother took my arm and led me through the crowds of mingling, shallow personalities of people.  
"Larxene," She said, every syllable pronounced with perfection as we walked, "Your father and I have been speaking with his majesty for a time now and we have decided you should meet your suitor."  
My face wrinkled in disgust as I heard the word "suitor". It was nothing but trouble, nothing but idiotic men in their flouncy lace suits and feathered hats, seeing women as nothing but a possession to own.  
When I did not reply, my mother continued.  
"He is the King's second son." She said with pride, as though that status she cared more for than the well being of her own daughter. This I knew to be true. "You will bring honour and prestige to our household. Finally, we shall have some use for you."  
"Of course," I said sarcastically. The fool of a woman did not pick up on this, and simply continued. She spoke to boost her own inflated ego; I was nothing in her picture of perfection through relations to the king.  
"He is here tonight. I would like you to meet him."  
She took me to one corner of the vast ballroom where I saw my husband-to-be for the first time. I knew which man it was, because he was the only man in the vicinity. He was surrounded by ladies and smooth talking every one of them. He was undoubtedly a narcissistic, egocentric bastard.  
"Prince Marluxia," My mother said behind me, steering me towards him.  
Upon hearing his name, the man turned. He wasn't unattractive; his pastel brown hair held in thick almost-ringlets as was the customary style in this day and age. He was tall, well built if not quite thick set - and with the delicate hands and long nails one would expect from royalty. He hadn't worked a day in his life.  
"Ah," He said, voice deep and charismatic. I was instantly repelled as it drew every other woman close to his self-loving personality. "So this would be the lucky mistress?"  
I opened my mouth to say something cutting to the contrary, but a chilly glare from my mother warned me that this was not a good idea. So instead I bowed as low as I could in my restrictive corset - the things women do for fashion, honestly - and humbly didn't meet his gaze.  
"It's a pleasure, your majesty."  
Marluxia chuckled, shooing the other women away with one hand - the other occupied by a tall, elegant wine glass.  
"Likewise. I have heard a lot about you..."  
I fought to hold back a smirk.  
"I bet you can't even remember my name."  
"Of course I do, Larxene," Marluxia instantly parried. "It's a beautiful name. How could I forget?"  
I scoffed, daring to look up into my betrothed's eyes now I knew my estranged mother was gone.  
"With all due respect; spare me the flattery."  
I expected the man to lash out at me for my rudeness but instead he simply smiled with an expression I couldn't place. Approval...? It couldn't be.  
For a while, he said nothing. The silence between us could even have been described as pleasant, but for the constant low level murmur of the crowds around us.  
"We are due to be married come spring." Marluxia finally said, eyes already trained on another woman. Although I wasn't exactly ugly, I was far from gorgeous: a plain girl, so to speak. My hair was cropped short - over it I wore a golden wig of bouncy ringlets laced with flowers. Make up on me simply looked ridiculous. I was small, too, with no great curves to my body like the other voluptuous mistresses. The dress I wore filled me out a little, but not much. I was a minion, people sometimes told me. The only thing captivating about me was my wide, turquoise eyes. So I wasn't surprised that Marluxia was bored already.  
"Sounds wonderful," I said sarcastically. Marluxia smiled.  
"I'm sure we'll make do."


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Over the next few months, I met Marluxia twice more, each time at a similar social convention. He was always surrounded by women, an amused and superior smile on his lips every time.  
He thought he was at the centre of the universe, and everybody else was just there for his disposal, clearly. The bastard. I hated him.  
Soon - too soon - the wedding date was set; my mother was overjoyed at the arrangements with callous disregard to my feelings. Never before had I felt such disgust and hatred for her.  
I was lying in bed one morning when one of my servants - I didn't know her name, and nor did I care to do so - bustled in with heated water and a change of clothes for the day.  
"Morning, miss,"  
I didn't reply, and she continued as she straightened my bed covers and tidied my room. Servants often made small talk with me - I was less intimidating than my mother, and I supposed they enjoyed thinking they were good enough to speak with royalty. Or royalty-to-be, in my case.  
"So tomorrow's the lucky day, hm?"  
I sat up and shrugged.  
"More like today's my last day of freedom,"  
The girl tried to hide a giggle as she poured steaming water from a flask into a bowl on the bedside table, and said nothing.  
"What's so funny?" I demanded, patience waning.  
"Marluxia's a very nice man."  
"He's horrible." I promptly replied, sniffing. "And that ought to be Prince Marluxia to you, at any rate."  
The servant finally turned to look at me with wide, baby blue eyes. She wore a cap on her head - as was customary - but a lock of pale blonde hair was falling from one side. She was very young.  
"Good luck, miss." She simply said, bobbing a neat curtsey and scurrying out.  
"I'll need it," I intoned dully after she'd left. Only one more night of relative freedom... and then I'd have to sleep in his bed, visit all kinds of stupid meetings as nothing more than a trophy wife for my mother to show off. Married to the Prince, indeed. I could imagine nothing worse.  
My mother was estranged from me: she had never cared for me as a child, never loved me or any of my numerous siblings of which I was the eldest. She had nannies and servants on hand to do that job for her. She had no emotional attachment to any of us. We rarely saw each other and even more rarely spoke; it was the same with my father, a rich and powerful member of parliament, advisor to the King himself. My mother boasted about me quite often, or so I had been told - but that was only because I was to be married to the Prince. I could have been any one of her daughters. All she cared for was money and status.  
She did speak to me, once, a week or so before the marriage.  
"Larxene," She had said, pulling me aside as I failed to learn to cross-stitch. "Walk with me."  
The garden was just beginning to open into full bloom, all manner of flowers sprouting gaily in neat, orderly rows. I didn't really like them.  
"Larxene," My mother said again once we had reached what she perceived to be a safe distance from the house. "I am here to talk to you about your wedding night. And the honoured Prince."  
I didn't bother to reply. Honoured, indeed. Everybody just bent to his will because of his riches and his pretty face. I saw no reason to honour him.  
"Of course it is your duty to give the Prince heirs, to carry on the royal bloodline."  
Splendid, I thought sarcastically, along with a few choice words to describe my mother. Babies.  
"The night that you are married, you shall sleep with the Prince. He will give you something. It is your task to accept this gift, do you understand?"  
Marluxia would give nothing to anybody but himself, I replied silently, but shook my head. The golden curls of my wig swung with the movement. It itched.  
"No."  
My mother sighed, ceasing her footsteps.  
"You are a wilful one, Larxene. You shame me. It is not your place to question the will of the Prince and if you understand one thing in that minuscule brain of yours, that shall be it." I liked to consider myself fairly intelligent - I could read and write, and not only did I speak French but also English and some Latin. I was good at arithmetic and not many girls could boast that. This meant nothing to my shallow mother.  
"I understand," I lied dutifully.  
"Good. You must do whatever the Prince requires or requests of you, with no questions whatsoever. You are to be his possession."  
"Is that what happened to my father and you? He owns you?" I asked, my stomach turning at the very thought. I was being degraded from a free-thinking lady to nothing more than an object - meaning less than a chair, or a nice set of clothes to show off to the world.  
"Yes." My mother replied confidently. "And ask no more questions. It is not ladylike."  
I couldn't care less about ladylike, so just to prove my point I turned away and stormed back to my mansion. We did not speak again.

The wedding arrived, far too quickly. Suddenly I realised that I was being bathed from head to toe in white silk, tasteless flowers patched onto my dress and wig - this time it was done up beautifully for my veil to be laid across my face.  
"You look gorgeous," The servants dressing me were all cooing. I didn't care if I looked beautiful or not. The word "possession" kept reverberating in my mind. That was all I was. Not even a person, just a pretty little china doll to be dressed up and dressed down at Prince Marluxia's whim.  
Everybody who was anybody was going to be at the wedding - even the peasants who we knew cared little for the goings on of the nobles would be attending outside, cheering and singing. We'd be a country united. Or some sort of tosh like that.  
There were flowers everywhere of every shape, size and colour. It must have cost a fortune - but then again a fortune was what the royal family possessed. And soon, I would be added to that fortune.  
Marluxia was waiting at the altar, dressed in smart black attire and white lace. He held on his face the same smile as always - the "I'm better than you" smile. I glided gracefully as instructed down the aisle, every step multiplying the feeling of grim dread festering in my stomach. The words the priest spoke at us seemed to go into one ear and out of the other.  
"... You may now kiss the bride."  
My consent had not even been asked of me; I was horrified. Marluxia leaned down in the silence, lifted the veil, and captured my lips. Neither of us blinked as there was a cheer from the assembled crowd. We didn't speak as the carriage drove us away. He still gazed absently at me, as though pondering some eventuality. I was sure it would never happen, no matter what my mother chose to say. I'd never succumb to this man's will. I watched the view from the carriage window.  
The reception at the royal buzzed with life an smart, well to do people. The orchestra providing accompliment was excellent indeed. I lingered at the edges as usual, toying with a curl of my wig and watching the multicoloured sway of the women's dresses as they danced. I held no desire to join them.  
"Care for a dance?"  
I realised that for a few minutes now, Marluxia had been standing a few feet from me, wine glass held delicately in one hand. I scoffed in as unladylike a manner as I dared.  
"Perhaps later, your highness,"  
Marluxia laid his empty glass on a conveniently passing tray, and forcibly took my hand.  
"Oh, I insist,"  
I tugged it away from him, tempted to petulantly cross my arms.  
"I can't dance."  
"I am sure your mother would have arranged lessons," Marluxia replied flippantly, taking my hand again, other arm around my waist as he led me out into the dance floor. Of course I knew all the moves - but I didn't want to remember them. Maybe if I could - accidentally, of course - step on his toes?  
He led the way through a slow waltz, but he held me with such a secure grip that I was forced to take every step perfectly just to keep my spine from twisting uncomfortably. He had me completely under control and I hated it.  
"Do smile," He murmured condescendingly after a few minutes, relinquishing his hold for a minute to spin me around in time with the music, skirts flying. It was all I could do not to fall over as he whipped me back into position, moving perfectly in time to a new, faster tune.  
I gave him a fleeting grimace, and returned to settling my features into a frown. The song changed again, another faster one, and as we twirled together I came to the horrible realisation that he was dancing circles around me. He was deliberately asserting his dominance as everybody else watched - everybody was watching! - in such a way that made us look perfect - he spun me again and I nearly fell, had he not neatly caught me, leaning me back before continuing the dance, flawlessly. He was good: terrifyingly good. He had me flustered and breathless.  
The other dancers had ceased leaving us alone on the dance floor and all eyes were trained on us - I realised that I couldn't take a false step now. I'd never live it down. With the other dancers on I could have probably given Marluxia's toes some serious and petty injury with nobody noticing - but now, I had no choice but to follow the moves of the dance. I was playing by Marluxia's rules and I had no leeway. No control whatsoever. I opened my mouth for some hissed, choice remarks about the man, but suddenly we stopped and his lips pressed against mine once again. The dancing was over, I realised. Marluxia had won - this time.  
Everybody was clapping, murmuring things to each other with approval. I caught a few of the words - "They're made for each other,"  
"Simply wonderful!"  
"I never knew the girl had such graceful feet-"  
"- Her family must be so proud..."  
Marluxia swept me off my feet and carried me outside, nodding his head in acknowledgement to all the appraising bystanders. Once outside in the cool spring air, he set me down.  
For a while we tried to stare each other down - I realised that this was the first time I had been alone with Marluxia, and that I had never seen him before with his mouth drawn in such a tight line, eyes narrowed coldly.  
I opened my mouth to speak and he stopped me with a finger to my lips.  
"Larxene." He said. "I know you hate me."  
"As if that were not obvious," I huffed, turning away. The whole town below us was sparkled with lights, the air of a nation celebrating rising up with the smell of alcohol and flowers and dirt. Marluxia was watching the sight, too, at the same time slowly undressing. First he pulled away his gloves, then loosened the lacy cravat around his neck, dropping them to the marble floor as though they meant nothing. He pulled off his sash, flinging it anywhere, then his jacket. Underneath he wore a fashionable, white shirt with loose sleeves, frilled cuffs and decorative button holes. He undid that, too, and pulled it away, leaving him standing half naked by the entrance to the ballroom of the palace.  
"What do you say to having some fun?" He asked, resting his soft hands by my cheeks, then trailing them down my neck to my bared shoulders, my arms, my elbows, sliding them back to toy with the lace of my corset. Fear flared in my gut. Was this what my mother had told me about? That I had to give up everything I was to this man, this monster in lace and frills?  
I shook my head violently, curls scattering into disarray. I took a hasty step backwards, and tripped over my own skirting. Marluxia caught me.  
"No," I said helplessly. "No, no! You can't do this to me! I won't let you take everything I have!"  
The Prince chuckled at me, glancing briefly away before piercing me with his gaze.  
"I wasn't talking about _that_ kind of fun, you adorable moron."  
He up-righted me and to my horror I staggered right into his bare arms.  
"What do you want from me?" I demanded. This time, the bastard outright laughed.  
"Nothing," He said simply. "That is, only if you can keep those pretty lips of yours sealed..."  
I tore away from him.  
"Just leave me alone. Prince or not, you're a horrible, horrible man and I hate you."  
"Larxene," Marluxia called, no great volume in his voice, as I stomped away. "I simply wanted to know if you would accompany me to the town."  
"What do you mean, the town?" I cried, spinning around to face him. My dress flared, the bottom sullied already by the dirt I had stormed into.  
"I meant, would you like to sneak out of the palace with me?"  
"You can do that?" I asked incredulously. Nobody ever left the palace grounds without a guard - it just wasn't safe.  
"Getting past the gates is a piece of cake," Marluxia replied with a wave of his hand. "You just have to be dressed right..."  
I was so dumbfounded at this unexpected rebellion from a man I had pegged as nothing more than a simpering Daddy's boy that I could do nothing but simply let him lead me in through a side door, stealing through the winding servant's corridors before we popped out into what I assumed was Marluxia's room. "They always come in handy," Marluxia commented, rummaging around in a box, flinging odd items of clothing out onto the floor. They were all shades of brown, dirtied and torn.  
I wrinkled my nose in disgust as I picked on up, inspecting it at arms' length.  
"Ew. You'd actually wear this? It feels like hay."  
Marluxia sighed.  
"If you don't want to stick out like a sore thumb with the peasants, then yes. Keep your petticoat on, though. This stuff isn't comfortable."  
He pulled one final item out from the box - what I eventually recognised as a dress - and held it out to me expectantly. Then I realised that he wanted me to wear it.  
I grit my teeth and carefully peeled away each layer of my clothing until I was wearing nothing but my stockings and petticoat, and he helped me to lever the ill-fitting garment onto my body. It did nothing for my figure at all; the sturdy boots he gave me made me look like nothing less than a boy. "You're wearing a wig," He observed suddenly, pulling the thing from my head to reveal tightly clipped back dirty blonde hair. "Perfect. Mess this up a little-" He pulled out each hairpin and ruffled my hair until several tresses sprung free from my head- "And nobody will recognise you. Wear gloves." He passed a pair to me, old, cracked leather, and I tugged them on. These were lined with something nice, and I liked them.  
Marluxia changed too, into a pair of loose trousers tucked into muddy boots and a shirt that may have been white once but certainly wasn't any more. A waistcoat that was a little brighter than the rest of the clothes, but not by much. He threw me a shawl for my shoulders.  
"One more thing," He said, and pulled out a small jar. Inside was, to all intents and purposes, dirt.  
"You keep a jar of dirt with you?" I exclaimed incredulously as he tucked two fingers into the jar and smeared mud onto my face.  
"It's a combination of dirt, dust and soot. It's an infallible combination."  
He gave himself some too, then walked over to the bedside table and wetted his hair from the jug until the neat curls were replaced by a threaded mass of brown. In this light, it seemed almost pink.  
"Let's go."  
We stole from the room back down the servant's corridors - we even passed a few along the way and they didn't even turn a blind eye, and out into the courtyard. A guard was there, and he greeted Marluxia jovially.  
"Marcus!"  
Marluxia waved, jogging over.  
"Braig! Long time, no see!"  
Suddenly his perfect diction was gone, replaced with a commoner's slur. He walked confidently - but differently before - over to the guard, laughing.  
"I was won'ering when you'd be gettin' out again," Braig chuckled, a glint in his eye. "Who's the pretty lady?"  
"This is Laura," Marluxia said without skipping a beat, ushering me forwards. Braig nodded approvingly.  
"You've got yerself a nice bird there."  
"Thanks, mate. How's yer wife?"  
"Doin' well, doin' well. Expecting another babe,"  
"Wow! Well done! Four now, is it?"  
"Heh, yeah. Hopin' for a little girl for our boys."  
"I'm wishing for ya,"  
They walked straight out, Larxene still glancing disbelievingly back at the guard.  
"How the hell did he not recognise us?"  
"Don't be stupid," Marluxia replied. "Of course Braig knows who I am. He's the one who first snuck me out into the city. There's just a new guard been employed, so we can't let slip until we know we can trust him. Now..." He paused, adjusting his gloves as the concentration of people - all celebrating - slowly increased. "Time to have some fun."


End file.
